when the sun goes down: the cicadas and crickets are inside the home the home is a part of nature concrete walls insulate the afternoons heat keep it well preserved within claim it as its own wooden beams seem centuries old tuberculosis is one clumsy fall away no hospital for miles steam rises from the corner of the room caldo or coffee brewing in the winter heat eighty degrees warrants a thin sweater, the wind can be vicious the silent dogs start barking at the darkness only they can see the threat the chickens and turkeys huddle together on the low tree branches and the leaves falling can be heard with a small thud, the bees on top of the home another piece of furniture that comes with the house prepare to leave their queen.